


Hunter Born

by khorybannefin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Survival Training, Training, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25058932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khorybannefin/pseuds/khorybannefin
Summary: Rescued by the boys, the reader becomes a hunter in training.
Kudos: 6





	Hunter Born

Hunter Born

Author: khorybannefin

Author Gender: Female

Reader Gender: Female

Word Count: 2087

Summary: Reader saved by the boys. Taken in and taught how to fight. Hunter in Training.

Warnings: descriptions of graphic violence, blood

You screamed until your voice broke. Your family was gone. The creatures were eating them. They’d trapped you, saving you for another meal. You’d already thrown up twice. You tried not to watch or listen as they tore huge pieces of flesh from your little brother. You’d called for help. No one came. You’d prayed. No one came. You could barely even cry anymore. In the dullness of your thoughts you started looking around at everything except them. Your eyes found objects, and you considered. It wasn’t a plan, but what did you have to lose? You weren’t tied up. They thought you were terrified into immobility. You had been, but all of the emotion had drained out of you. You weren’t even angry, you just wanted them dead.

Slowly you crawled to the corner of the counter. You didn’t have to try too hard to feign fear. They noticed you move, but just laughed derisively in your direction. You vowed their complacency was going to be their end. You snatched up a cast iron pan. Not the big one, but the half size. It was less heavy and easier to wield. That went in your left hand and you snatched your dads cleaver off the knife magnet on the wall. You turned, hell in your eyes, and watched them stand up.

There were two of them. Male and female. You didn’t know what they were, but they were covered in blood all down their fronts and up to their elbows. One was still chewing as they rose from behind the kitchen island. You put the corner of the counter behind you, so they’d have less room to get to you. One of them actually hissed as they split up and came at you from both sides of the island. You started swinging and chopping as they came close enough. You actually scored some good shots. But so did they. Claws raked open your upper arm, and you felt a numbness start to spread. You were getting sleepy, relaxing. You tried to fight it off, but you were getting ready to fall. They snatched your weapons as you swung weakly at them.

You didn’t really hear the door crash open. You were swinging your fists, trying to fight still, but your legs were giving out. You tried to hold onto the counter, but you slid to the floor. You watched through eyes going hazy as two men shot those things up, and then chopped them to pieces. The big one noticed that you were still alive. He came to you and knelt down. Your eyes failed and you passed out.

When you woke up your head was pounding and your limbs felt like they were packed in cotton. The lights were low, but you didn’t recognize the room. Turning your head took way too much effort, but you let it fall to the right and saw the same brown haired man sitting next to you. He noticed you wake and was suddenly sitting on the edge of the bed, offering you water. You had no idea what terrible cotton mouth you had until you saw the glass. He helped you drink, only a little spilling down your front. He pulled it away too soon.

“You’re still trying to get rid of the poison. Too much and you’ll throw up. What’s your name, honey? I’m Sam.”

His voice. It was so soothing, so full of care. He asked your name and you thought for a second. Your name flooded into your mind, along with a collection of memories of what had happened to everyone else who’d had that name. You began to shake, your eyes going wide and huge tears falling from your eyes. You started to make a noise, high pitched and endless. You had heard the expression “keening with grief” but hadn’t ever heard it. You were making that sound now.

Sam wrapped you in big arms and pulled you against his broad chest. He was big and warm. He made you feel safe. He smelled like warm leather and gun powder. You knew because your dad had taken you shooting a couple of times. It’s not a smell you forget. He rocked you, telling you it was ok to cry, that he was so sorry this happened to you. You didn’t even know *what* had happened. Monsters, that’s what. Monsters killed and ate your family while you watched. You couldn’t fight, couldn’t protect them, couldn’t *save* them! You were so angry at yourself. The rage silenced the tears. When Sam felt your breathing slow he pulled back, brushing your hair out of your face.

“You going to be ok?” He had the biggest hazel eyes and this little worried wrinkle in his forehead. You could feel his concern radiating off of him. It almost made you cry again. Why did he care so much about a stranger?

“No!” You said angrily. “I’m not going to be ok ever again! What were those things? They ate my family!” You were screaming by the end and Sam was trying to calm you.

“No! Don’t tell me to calm down! What were they and how do I kill them? Answer me!” You had grabbed onto the front of his shirt and shook him while you shouted. As he gently detached your hands with his own big warm ones another man came in the room. He was smaller, in every respect, than Sam. Dark blond hair and the greenest eyes you’d ever seen.

“Everything ok in here Sammy?” His voice was deeper, and rather gruff. He held himself like he was ready for violence. You remembered him as being the one with the shotgun.

“It’s ok, Dean.” Sam looked at you and motioned towards the blond with his head. He was still holding your hands captive. They were callused, and absolutely dwarfed yours.

“Y/N, this is my brother Dean.”

“So,” Dean leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. “You want to know how to kill monsters, huh? Bit on the small side aren’t you?” You growled and lunged across the bed. Sam caught you before you could get far. Dean was laughing in the doorway, hands up in surrender.

“It’s not funny Dean.” Sam was glaring at his brother, jaw tight. “How did you feel when Dad died? And he was a Hunter. You’re a Hunter too, and how did *you* solve that problem? Can you blame her for wanting vengeance?”

Dean sobered quickly at mention of his father. His eyes went cold and his own jaw tensed. He stood straight, unfolding his arms. You were still glaring daggers at him, anger making your throat tight. He looked at you again, considering you for real. He pulled a thoughtful face and then nodded.

“You want to fight? Fine. We teach you how to fight.”

“Dean!” Sam said, warning in his voice. “Can I talk to you?”

The boys went out into the hall as you took stock of yourself. The venom or whatever was wearing off. Your thoughts weren’t so clouded. You were starting to feel pain, from your arm especially. You poked at the bandages. It hurt, a lot, and felt tight. You assumed you had stiches. As you swung your legs off the bed you heard the argument out in the hall.

“Dean, you can’t just train her. What is she going to do after she learns to fight? Are you going to take her on cases?”

“Yeah, I am.” Dean had a hard look on his face. He was determined to do this.

“Where do you think new Hunters come from, Sammy? Older, more experienced Hunters train them. With as many of us as are dying out there we need the help. Besides, what else is she going to do? Her family is gone. Her home is gone. She can’t go back to her life. So, we’ll give her a new one.”

“I don’t like this Dean.” Sam glanced in your direction and you tried to pretend you hadn’t been paying attention, just putting your shoes on. “This isn’t the solution. She needs help, normal help. Dumping our world on her isn’t fair.” You finally spoke up.

“My world changed the minute those things got in my house. I’m in it now. So teach me. Teach me how to survive. Teach me how to kill things, so no one else has to die.” Dean smacked Sam in the chest.

“See? Hunter.”

******

“Harder! Come on Y/N, you can do better than that!”

You were absolutely pouring sweat. You’d been at this for weeks. They left you home during cases so far, but expected you to keep training even while they were gone, and you did. Hours a day you lifted weights, used the bags, and did pilates. You were trim and had lost all your baby fat. Of course, whenever they were home Dean put you through your paces, and forced you to push. Always harder and faster.

Dean taught you the brawling. Sam was weapons. As it was you preferred blades, but you’d become a decent shot too. Still having trouble with that damned shotgun. Dean had been right that first day. You were a bit on the small side, and that thing, sawed off like it was, kicked something awful. You could get the first shot off, but it knocked you back and it took a second for you to recover and get a second shot. But you’d come up with something that worked for you.

Some cops carried something they called a Stinger. It was a telescoping steel rod about three feet long when extended. It was like a baton, only more deadly. The steel was great for ghosts and you’d taken an etcher to it. There were Enochian symbols etched into the metal. Wasn’t as good as Sam’s blade or the Colt, but it hurt demons more than regular weapons.

You’d already had the workout with Sam. Dean was pushing you right after. It seemed like his goal was to drive you until you failed.You swung at him, dodging his counter and coming up under his guard. You struck upward with the heel of your hand. He grabbed your wrist and tossed you to the floor.

“Not good enough! Get up! Again.”

Dean was merciless. You were sliding in your own sweat on the mats. Your strikes got slower, clumsier. Finally Dean struck you down and it was over. You tried to stand and your legs wouldn’t lift you. You called it and Dean backed off. He extended his hand to help you up and you shook your head, flopping back onto the mats, trying to catch your breath.

“You’re getting better,” he said as he passed you a water. “It’s not often that we have to spend a full hour at that pace in the field, but it’s happened. You couldn’t do three minutes when you started.” You laughed, still breathless.

“That your way of apologizing for abusing me?” Dean put a shocked hand to his chest.

“Abuse? I’d never abuse a lady. Well, unless she asked.” He had that smirk he always got when he was being lewd. You swung a slap at him which he easily batted aside.

“Too slow.” He grinned down at you and you stuck out your tongue at him. Yes, you were exactly that mature. You’d come to know the boys pretty well the last few months. At least enough to be comfortable playing back with them when they decided to channel their inner little kid.

You finally recovered enough you thought you could stand. Dean helped you up and you wobbled but stayed upright. Points to you! You headed out of the gym and went towards the shower, knowing you’d hurt later if you didn’t take care of yourself. Sparring with Dean was always brutal, but he meant well.

“Hey, Y/N!” He called after you. You turned to find him with a towel around his shoulders. “I think you’re ready. Next hunt, you’re going.” You beamed and he shook a finger at you.

“Don’t disappoint me or you’ll be researching until you’re thirty.” You gave him a serious nod. Turning away that fierce grin lit your face, and your eyes. You practically skipped to the showers.

*Finally.*


End file.
